


Your Absence Wears a Hole Right Through Me

by justlikepagliaccis



Category: The Monkees (Band), The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mike is a good boyfriend, based off of their tv characters, canon-compliant shenanigans, change my mind, i pretty much made up the entirety of mike's family, jolenz if you squint, keep that in mind pls, protective!Mike, sad peter is sad, the boys are Irresponsible, this is a work that snowballed out of my control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29205144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikepagliaccis/pseuds/justlikepagliaccis
Summary: Mike has to leave for a few weeks to visit family in Texas and Peter doesn't take it well.
Relationships: Mike Nesmith/Peter Tork
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	Your Absence Wears a Hole Right Through Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of something I had in my drafts years ago and the plot is a bit choppy, as I was keen on keeping most of the original scenes. I've been in love with this pairing since I was introduced to the Monkees, but this is the first work that I've ever posted for the fandom, so please be gentle! As a side note, the members of Mike's family all belong to me. I made them up for the sake of the plot and Mike's characterization.  
> Enjoy!  
> \- adeleine

On his way out the door, Mike was stopped for the fifth time by the sight of Peter's big, watery eyes. He set his bags on the floor and crossed the short distance from the threshold to the couch to wrap Peter up in his arms. It was only going to be a two-week trip to Texas and, even then, it wasn't going to be enjoyable in the slightest.

Not only would he have to face his entire town as a city-slicker musician that never really made it big, Mike had to look his Ma in the eye with the knowledge that leaving her and the rest of his siblings behind was for naught, for he hadn't anything but thirty dollars to his name. But it was for her birthday, and Mike was nothing if not loyal.

And wasn't that the biggest joke in the book? Here he was, leaving Peter and the rest of the band in California to fend for themselves. How was that loyal? Mike already worried himself sick the night before about what they might get up to in his absence. Micky had assured him that he and Davy would take care of things and make sure the pad was still in tact by the time he got back, but somehow Mike couldn't put much stock in that.

There was no going back now, Mike already had a taxi sitting outside and his family waiting patiently for him back home. He dropped a short kiss on Peter's brow, working away the wrinkles that had accumulated there.

"I'll be back before ya know it, shotgun. I'll give ya a call. Promise I'll always be there to talk," he said lowly, so the conversation still remained private with Micky and Davy just a few feet away. "Keep an eye on 'em for me, will ya? Can't have 'em gettin' into any trouble."

Peter managed a wobbly smile and nodded his head. "I will, don't worry! When... are you going to be back, again?"

Bless his heart, he sounded so lost. Every minute Mike spent stalling was giving him more and more reasons to stay. He was wracked with guilt for having to turn their newly formed close relationship into a long-distance one. They hadn't been away from each other since the four of them moved in together a few years earlier. Mike hoped that they could handle being alone, but he was already having doubts.

"I already marked the calendar for ya. By the 16th of July." Mike held him a bit tighter. He hadn't admitted it to himself yet, but he would miss Peter just as much as Peter would miss him – maybe even more.

Being around his aunts and uncles meant constant interrogation about his fictitious girlfriend, someone Mike made up in the heat of the moment after nearly an hour of prying. He was sure that they'd kick his ass to Russia if they found out that Pamela was actually a guy named Peter that was currently awaiting his return so they could continue their very queer relationship.

The honk of a car horn from outside startled them out of the moment. Mike slowly pulled away, hands still rubbing at Peter's arms. Their eyes met. A silent I love you. He gave Micky and Davy a wave, collecting his bags from where he dropped them.

"See ya. Don't kill anybody and make sure this place is still standing, Micky." A different, threatening look took over Mike's face as he offered Micky a warning of the ass-beating he might receive if Mike came home to a mess.

He sauntered out the door, knowing that if he turned around, he'd abandon the trip entirely. A chorus of "Bye, Mike!" sounded from behind him as he shut the front door with a resonant click. 

❧ 

Not even five minutes after the cab pulled away, Peter was already breaking down in pitiful sobs. Micky rushed over followed by Davy at his heels.

"Don't cry, Petah! He'll be back soon!" Davy said, taking his elbow and leading him away from the door, lest he try something foolish like run after the taxi.

They sat him down on the couch, trying to soothe away his tears, but all efforts remained fruitless. It didn't matter how soon Mike was coming back, it was the fact that he wasn't here now.

Micky and Davy took shifts during the next few days trying to distract him, running back and forth across the pad doing all sorts of things that might take Peter's mind off of Mike's absence. Nothing they did seemed to produce anything more than a sluggish bob of his head and a sniffle.

They put on a cops and robbers play, something just childish enough to grab his attention, and were met with a hum from Peter's place curled up at the end of the couch. Micky swung from the rafters, trying to mimic an acrobatics act. It certainly caught Davy's attention, as he fell from the railing of the spiral stairs and right on top of him. Peter barely flinched.

The only silver lining was that Peter was entirely mobile and completely silent. They dragged him along to clubs, restaurants, and parks as a conversation piece if any cute chicks happened to pass by. The closest they got to a response was Peter moving on his own to sit among a patch of flowers when Davy slid into a smooth second base with a girl he'd only met ten minutes ago.

He refused to eat anything except for oranges, but the price of them was going up and they needed the money for the rent in a few days. Sometimes, Davy was able to give Peter something round without him realizing that it wasn't an orange. He was just so caught up in his head that cheese usually went over his radar.

After days of Peter's silence, Micky resorted to more and more drastic tactics. He made up new holidays to decorate for to try and get Peter excited again. Every other day the place was strewn in streamers, tickertape, and the odd boar's head for Gutzon Borglum Day.

There was almost a breakthrough when Davy suggested they celebrate the summer of love with a party. It seemed to cheer Peter up enough for him to help string up balloons and pick out a record selection.

"Do you think Mike's okay?" Peter asked, only hours before the party was set to begin.

Davy stood next to him in the mirror making last minute adjustments to his outfit and hair. He made the effort to look more peaceful and fun-loving like Peter did, and adorned himself with several strings of love beads and a colorful patterned shirt.

This time around, Peter was happy to oblige to the dress code, as he didn't have to change much at all. He wore his moccasins and some love beads of his own, at least twice the amount as Davy's. Peter brushed his hair straight and silky for the occasion, but he made no move to do much else and remained deeply set in his funk.

"He'll be fine, Petah. We've been over this. Mike calls you every day, you know! He called this morning and he was alright," Davy replied, focusing on combing his bangs over into a wave.

Peter frowned, going silent and watching him work. Mike had called that morning, but their conversation was cut short because his little brothers were yanking on his arms and clothes, vying for his attention. He worried that Mike would forget about him with how much fun he seemed to be having. And, worst of all, Mike had just called him Peter, not honey or sugar or even Pete. Their conversation never surpassed the bounds of casual small talk.

Peter didn't try and argue, he knew it would be pointless. He fell back into his silence as Davy led them into the living room where Micky was supposed to be setting things up. In an attempt to get Peter to smile again, he was wrapped up like a mummy in streamers complete with a punch bowl on his head. Peter's expression of mild confusion was counted as a win as he ambled over, groaning as overdramatically as possible.

Davy rolled his eyes, nothing else had worked, why would this be any different? He was proven wrong as Micky tripped over a loose streamer and skidded into a lamp which toppled over and caught hold of a bowl of pretzels that were sent flying into the air.

They fell on top of Micky like hail, making audible plunks. He wasn't paying attention to that anymore, as he caught sight of Peter fighting back a grin of amusement. A giggle slipped out and soon all three of them were dissolving into laughter. 

❧

The party had been a success. Turns out, Peter needed a little bit of socializing to get him chipper and talkative again. The entire night he was chattering with anyone he came across, his smiles big and wide.

It was a relief to Micky and Davy who had been working nonstop to get him back to normal since Mike had left. They were at the halfway point, and there was only one more week before Mike would return. At the party's end, they had confidence that Peter would be all better.

Unfortunately, it would take a lot more than that to keep Peter that way. By the next morning he was on the couch again, still in his pajamas, and waiting for the phone to ring for Mike's routine call. To make things worse, the pad was an absolute wreck. Discarded plates and cups were everywhere, not to mention the bits of tickertape in every crevice imaginable. Davy wasn't sure, but he thought that there was a homeless man that had taken up residence in their bathroom.

He'd walked in on the stranger brushing his teeth with their toothbrushes, his clothes patched and dirty, and promptly shut the door again.

Someone had also brought with them an... animal of some sort that took to running fast circles around the house and then disappearing before anyone could get a good look at what it was. Micky, ever the good sport, had named it Tasmanian and went on frequent hunts with a butterfly net to try and catch it before Mike returned.

Peter was apathetic to it all. He sat in the middle of utter chaos with his head in his hand.

Eventually, the phone rang. Peter startled awake and snatched it off its cradle. "Hello? Michael?"

The line crackled some and the distant sound of children shouting could be heard in the background. "Hiya, Peter," came Mike's short, tired reply.

Peter could've wilted. He desperately clung to the hope that Mike missed him just as much. Why would he? Most of the time Peter caused him nothing but worry and irritation. It was probably a much-needed vacation away from them all. No wonder Mike didn't want any of them to come along with him. Peter clutched the phone so tight his knuckles turned white, biting his lip to keep him from breaking out into another sob.

"Hi, Mike," he repeated. "Having – Having fun?" Peter's voice cracked on the last word, betraying his mood immediately.

He wanted Mike to enjoy himself, really. But Peter figured it'd be easier in the long run if Mike just told them that he wanted to leave the band rather than go through the trouble of spending money on trips to Texas.

The other end went quiet for so long Peter feared that Mike had already hung up on him. He worried his lip between his teeth again and again until the skin broke. The blood tasted metallic and bitter on his tongue. Peter barely acknowledged Micky, who was crossing into another room with a baseball bat and chair in hand. This new scheme quickly resulted in him sprinting in the opposite direction from Tasmanian who was gaining on him.

Peter absentmindedly twirled the phone cord around his finger, winding it up and up and up until his finger turned all red and angry from lack of circulation.

"It's good down here," Mike said finally. Peter already felt his lips betraying him as they curled down into a long frown. "How's it up there?"

He watched glumly as Micky fought off Tasmanian with a drumstick, brandishing it like a sword as he swung it to and fro. It was soon a losing battle, as Micky backed himself up into a corner. His eyes went comically wide as the gaping maw of Tasmanian widened before him, large enough to fit at least three-quarters of his head in.

Peter covered the receiver and snapped his fingers in a come gesture that he'd learned from Mike a while back. The beast gave up its prey, its pointed ears perking up in the direction of the noise. It scurried in Peter's direction and he gently nudged it along into another room with his foot.

"Fine."

"Good."

"Yeah."

Peter opened his mouth, getting ready to ask Mike if he was leaving the group (and him) already when Mike spoke up first.

"Gotta go. Ole Johnny and Ricky wanna play cowboy again."

Maybe, just maybe, Peter could detect a hint of exasperation in his voice. But as he went to say goodbye, Mike had already hung up.

That evening, Peter retired to his room early, without dinner. And no one, not even Davy and his promises of chocolate or new records, could get him back out again. He'd done a full circle and ended up far worse than before. Micky and Davy couldn't believe it. He was doing just fine until Mike called. They had half a mind to ring him just to see what Mike had said to get Peter so down in the dumps after all of their progress!

The only thing stopping Micky from dialing was the memory of those cold, steely eyes of pure Texas hurricane upon him and the vivid, yet very real fear of having a broomstick shoved down his throat. 

❧

The Texas days passed by agonizingly slowly. Mike found himself staring off into space far more times than he could count, barely paying attention to anything his relatives were telling him. He couldn't take his mind off of Peter and how much he missed him. The farmhouse was his childhood and his memories, but Peter was his home.

There was no one to seek solace in during long, hot nights of self-loathing, when Mike was torn open and raw from pointed comments made by great-aunts and uncles.

It took him awhile to adapt to his old schedule, and Mike stayed in bed hours after the rooster had crowed, something frowned upon in the household. He'd been screwing up since he'd gotten there, and Mike honestly wished he never came.

His little brothers and sister made it all worthwhile. Mike hadn't seen them since he left Texas a few years ago, and they'd grown up faster than he realized. Little Johnny was already up to his elbow, a spitting image of Mike himself with thick, unruly hair and long, awkward legs. He'd followed Mike around for the first few days, excited in his own quiet way.

Debbie was more exuberant. All pigtails and rumpled skirts, she ran circles around Mike, asking him a thousand questions at once.

There was Ricky who used to be a tiny thing he had to rock to sleep every night, now grown into a strapping toddler. He didn't have a clue about what was going on, but knew that his brother Mikey had finally come home and he was very happy about that.

It felt good being around them again. The kids didn't expect him to be some superstar with a Rolls Royce, they thought he was fantastic enough as an older brother.

However, his relatives didn't share the same sentiment. At his Ma's birthday party, Mike was relentlessly interrogated about where he lived, what job he had, and how much money he made. None of his answers were good enough to receive anything other than a judgmental eyebrow raise and an "Oh, so you aren't working?"

Mike could find a way to ignore the comments, sure, but the most humiliating part was when the men of the family sidled up to him, whispering about job opportunities if he needed them. It was enough to make Mike march straight out of the room with a closed-lipped smile and hands jammed into his pockets.

He stayed holed up in his bedroom for the remainder of the party, Ma's feelings be damned. As if he didn't feel like shit already. Mike didn't need them telling him things he already knew.

"Mikey," his Ma called the next morning. She appeared in his doorway at the crack of dawn, fully dressed and tidied up with her grayed hair pulled in a tight knot at the back of her head. Ma hadn't changed much since when he was younger. Still stern and taciturn. Still keen on embarrassing nicknames. "Mikey, it's past six."

Swallowing his protests, Mike dragged himself out of bed and fell into the habit of his quick morning routine around the farm. He threw on clothes, brushed his teeth and hair, and met Ma in the kitchen.

Johnny was old enough to help out with chores, so he was out in the chicken coop collecting eggs for breakfast. Debbie sat with Ricky at the table, muttering in gibberish and giggling. Ma was already at the stove frying the bacon up. Mike sauntered over awkwardly, unsure of his place after so long being gone.

Ma easily sent him to work setting the table and pouring drinks. Mike fell into a rhythm of assisting the little ones, patting their heads and helping them drink their juice without spilling it all over Ma's nice new tablecloths.

He felt guilty about the night before, so he made sure to do whatever was asked of him and more. But Ma didn't seem angry with him. Not angry, but not happy. He didn't remember a time when she looked like this. Her lips were drawn into a tight line, yet her eyes remained kindly. Her voice barely scraped a shout, yet her words were somber.

"Saw you left the party early," she said, her attention on the pan.

Mike immediately went to apologize, spluttering out a few incomprehensible words while trying to keep the lip of the cup to Ricky's mouth so he could drink. Ma cut him off.

"Kinfolk don't know when to shut their mouths. Had half a mind to sling your Aunt Agnes from Texas to Transylvania – that witch." Mike blinked in shock. He was all ready to hear some lecture about bettering himself for the future, not this.

Ma turned from her place at the stove, her eyes scorching. She held the pan of bacon tightly enough to give it a pitch if she so desired.

"Don't care how much money you make, 'long as you're livin'. Proud to tell my neighbors that my son is some new-fangled musician up in California."

Mike wanted to cry out at her blatant acceptance and support, but that's not what you did in a situation like this. He nodded his head with a real smile this time, one that his Ma returned ten-fold. They were two of a kind, with their crooked teeth and grim faces. By the time Mike returned to tending to Ricky's spilled orange juice, Johnny burst into the kitchen with the eggs.

❧

Mike was worried about Peter. Whenever he got time to call, he would find Peter horribly despondent and gloomy. There wasn't much he could do or say with his Ma and siblings hanging around. In fact, Mike was forced to be strictly platonic with light-hearted talk. Ma was already suspicious by the lack of calls from Pamela, and the last thing Mike wanted to do was soil her pride for him by being a queer.

Even if she managed to be in the barn when Mike called, the kids would be running him ragged with plastic army men stabbing his ankles and pop guns jabbing at his stomach. He barely got out a word of assurance before Johnny socked him in the ribs with his plastic gun.

Peter being so quiet also robbed Mike of his comfort that he desperately needed. He became cranky and irritable, even getting short-tempered with the little ones when they pressed their luck with Mike's silence.

He couldn't wait to get home again so he could just take his boy up in his arms and hide away for a few days. Not necessarily to get in Peter's pants. Quality time with Peter always recharged Mike's batteries far better than sleep ever could. When Mike got stressed over a gig or their financial problems, Peter would lead him into the bedroom so they could cuddle until he got everything sorted out in his head again. He always knew what Mike needed before Mike himself knew.

A long day of nitpicking at the others' playing during practice would end up with Mike's head resting in Peter's lap and Peter running his fingers through his hair to calm him down. Without Peter around to do any of that, Mike remained high strung and angry.

It was during one of those moods that Mike heard the telephone ring over the shouts of Debbie and Johnny. They were having a squabble about her doll that Johnny had shot with his pop gun. Mike hadn't the energy nor the patience to break the fight up, so he heaved a sigh and trudged over to the phone. Of course, his Ma picked the best day to pick up her groceries in town.

"Hello?" Mike yelled over the noise.

He spotted Johnny about to throw a chubby fist Debbie's way and quickly intercepted the action with one long leg. Johnny landed on his back with a thud while Debbie burst out into shrieking laughter. It was a blessing that Ricky had stayed asleep during his nap this entire time.

"Hi, Mike."

It was Micky. Mike furrowed his brow. Usually Peter called around this time. Micky and Davy didn't bother with calling him and, to be honest, Mike didn't know much else to say other than the odd threat or two to keep them in line. It was Peter who he was worried about.

"Uh, hi Mick. What's wrong?"

There was a long silence and the distant sound of two voices arguing with one another. Mike felt himself break out in a cold sweat. None of this was right. Where was Peter?

He anxiously cracked his knuckles, starting to walk the floor. Johnny trailed after him, figuring what was good enough for Mikey was good enough for him. Debbie watched the pair curiously from her place on the floor, clutching her doll to her chest.

"We just might have the smallest, tiniest, littlest, most microscopic problem in the world!"

"What happened." Mike growled, his brain going a mile a minute.

He conjured up worst-case scenarios where Peter was lying dead in a ditch in some dank alley across town. Maybe it was just something ordinary like a lamp busting or Babbitt threatening to cut the power again. But Mike had a feeling that Micky wouldn't call to tell him if they broke a lamp.

"It's Peter. He's... sorta... in the hospital. Right now."

Mike had never run so fast in his life. He threw the phone back down on its cradle and immediately charged out of the room to pack his bags. His throat closed up and tears of frustration threatened to spill onto his cheeks, but Mike squeezed his eyes shut. Johnny followed him, sitting on his knees as he watched him. 

Mike was barely paying attention, he was already estimating how much time it would take for his Ma to get back and the amount he needed for bus fare for the trip. He counted up all of the money left in his wallet and recounted it just in case Micky and Davy couldn't foot the hospital bill.

"Are you... leavin' again, Mikey?" Johnny whispered, crawling across the carpet to sit in front of Mike's suitcase.

Mike stilled his trembling fingers, forcing them to occupy themselves by stuffing his wallet in his back pocket. Johnny was pouting, looking on the verge of a temper tantrum. He sighed and reached over to ruffle his hair, earning a guarded smile for his efforts. It was physically painful to see Johnny grow up the same way Mike did, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

"Yeah. The guys need my help back at–" He coughed around a word that sounded a lot like home. "Back at the pad."

This didn't make it any better. Debbie and Ricky began to gather at the bedroom door, mournful expressions on their faces. It was like the first time Mike left Texas all over again. "Now don't y'all be cryin'. You know I'll be back. I'm sure Johnny here learned the ropes. Didn't ya?"

Johnny managed a shrug. By that time, Ma had appeared behind the children, bags in hand and an all-knowing purse of her lips. She knew without Mike having to tell her. They exchanged a few short nods without speaking for a long moment. Johnny, Debbie, and Ricky followed along with their heads swiveling back and forth like they were watching a tennis match.

"You be safe now," she said hoarsely, suddenly looking twice her age in the light of the fading afternoon. Mike finished packing up his things and dropped kisses on the kids' heads; he hugged his Ma goodbye and left the farmhouse in a fog of worry.

❧

Micky was running panicked circles around the cramped hospital room, scared both for Peter's wellbeing and his own. It was all his idea that got poor Peter into this mess in the first place. He snuck a glance at Peter, still unconscious, but breathing.

After the party, he'd been so out of it that Micky suggested a day on the beach to cheer him up. Getting Peter in fresh air and sunlight had done wonders: he was prancing around the waves in no time. Davy was distracted with a girl and Micky was sunbathing when it happened.

They still weren't sure if Peter got knocked down by a wave or a passing stranger, but by the time they found him, he was face-down in the tide.

The doctors said that Peter would be okay. He hadn't been submerged in the water for too long, so his lungs weren't totally flooded. They had him on oxygen just in case, and made frequent checks to make sure Peter's vitals were as they should be.

It was a relief, but Micky just couldn't relish in it like Davy had. He was all ate up with guilt. And soon a Texas tornado would touch down and wreak merciless havoc upon the little hospital. Micky shuddered at the thought of Mike shining that broomstick on the trip back, a scarily neutral expression on his face.

"C'mon, Pete," Micky pleaded, scurrying over to his bedside. "Please wake up for me, man. I can guarantee that Mike's coming for you."

A crease traveled across Peter's brow, but other than that he remained expressionless. Micky was on his knees now, grasping the bed sheets in his fingers. "You just gotta wake up."

Davy finally returned, two coffees in hand, and brought Micky back to their seats silently. He passed over a Styrofoam cup, the heat from the freshly brewed coffee warming their faces.

It was a waiting game until Peter gained consciousness again; it was a waiting game until Mike arrived. Micky figured he'd try to enjoy the quiet while it lasted, because he'd certainly be hearing it from Mike about putting Peter in harm's way. As usual, he had one job and he couldn't even do that right. Micky stared at the white tiles beneath his beat-up Converse, letting the cup burn into his palm.

"It wasn't your fault, mate. It was an accident. Would've happened to anybody," Davy said, his voice overly loud in the barren room.

Micky shrugged, swirling the coffee around and taking small sips here and there. Despite Davy's attempt to comfort him, they both knew it wasn't true. Neither of them were paying attention to Peter, especially when he tended to need looking after in public areas.

Mike would've found a place on the beach that gave him a view of Peter and camp out there the entire time, definitely not getting distracted with girls or sleep.

Micky glanced out the window at the setting sun slowly fading into night, leaving the bright fluorescent hospital lights to burn their eyes. He wasn't going to sleep.

By morning, Mike would be back and he was still mentally preparing himself for the brutal punishment that he was about to withstand. Davy leaned his head on Micky's shoulder, already passed out. He quickly caught the cup that was slipping from Davy's hands and let his friend rest.

They had both been running ragged trying to work up enough money for Peter to stay at the hospital – Davy had spent the entire day canvasing all of the restaurants in the immediate area for waitering jobs.

Micky was forced to pawn his drums just to pay off the price for Peter's bed. He wanted to let Mike know that they had tried, truly. But he'd hung up the phone before Micky could get another word in, probably thinking the worst, thereby ensuring the chair leg's place wedged directly through his skull.

He took one last glimpse of Peter's slumbering form before finally conking out from sheer exhaustion. The coffee cups crashed to the ground, spilling rivers of chocolate-brown liquid that ran steadily down Micky's pantleg. It went completely unnoticed. 

❧

Following the nearly two days of traveling by bus, Mike was on the verge of committing several brutal, random acts of violence. He was forced to keep his temper in check in order to have a seat on the bus, but being crammed up against the window by a very rotund old woman with a penchant for open-mouthed gum chewing was the worst form of cruel and unusual punishment.

Each time Mike went to open his mouth to give her what for, he heard Peter's voice in the back of his head. Be nice, Michael. There's no need to start anything. Breathe. And he did. Mike took so many deep breaths he was sure the lady probably thought that he was a nutcase. When his breathing started to earn him odd looks from his fellow passengers, Mike resorted to counting passing cacti or worrying about Peter.

He dropped the phone and Micky couldn't elaborate properly on why Peter was in the hospital in the first place. If he was being honest with himself, Mike wouldn't have had the wherewithal to sit through a stumbling explanation. The twenty or more hours on the road made him regret his hasty decision. All Mike had left to do was think, and he was constantly mulling over horrific scenarios.

Did Peter crash the car? Hit his head? Burn himself on the oven trying to make cereal again?

He hated that he was so far away. Mike never should have left. He knew it. They all knew it. Ever since they had first met, Mike had promised to protect Peter and he was doing a hell of a job of it by being halfway across the States. From this day forward, Mike vowed to take better care of his boy. Peter didn't deserve this. Peter didn't deserve him.

He counted the fiftieth cactus blurring by the window and tried not to let his mind wander in the direction it was starting to go. Mike wanted to focus on the woman chewing next to him, hoping to be distracted enough by anger. The sadness had sobered him into a melancholic state that left Mike staring blankly at passing scenery, folding his body up tight to keep a semblance of personal space.

Who was he to ask for love from such a beautiful creature? Peter was far too good for him. It kept him up during late nights when his only company was the lonely moon hanging high up in the starlit sky.

Mike would brood and nurse a glass of the whiskey they had squirrelled away for special occasions, crying silent tears that never saw the light of day. His insecurity would eat him alive, making him bitter enough to hide Davy's hair products and guilty enough to dig them back out just as dawn broke out over the horizon.

Peter's touch and gleaming eyes would bring him back to earth, a balm to his stinging wounds. No matter how nasty Mike had been, Peter would always welcome him back into his embrace without a second thought. He was aware of how Mike's defense mechanisms worked and never judged him for them.

"Next stop is Los Angeles, folks!" The bus driver's booming voice crackled over the speakers, startling Mike out of his head.

Los Angeles. Peter. Hospital.

He felt a surge of adrenaline coarse through his body, staving off the numbing exhaustion that was building deep within muscle and bone. Mike wanted nothing more than to escape into the dark, comforting recesses of his room with Peter at his side, but he wasn't even sure if Peter was capable of leaving the hospital bed anytime soon. The thought reinvigorated his urge to get to the hospital as soon as humanly possible.

Mike was already standing up as the bus came to a stop, collecting his bags from the overhead rack and muttering a barely there, 'scuse me, ma'am to the woman beside him.

Mike, finally freed from his one-window prison, hurried off of the bus as quick as he could, nearly tripping over his unsteady legs. There was only one hospital in the general area, and Mike headed in that direction. 

With matted hair barely concealed underneath his trusty wool hat, wrinkled clothes and a heated glare, Mike made crowds part like the Red Sea for him. He only had one goal in mind, and that was seeing Peter again. Unbeknownst to a slumbering Micky, the Texas tornado had already touched down in the California area and was barreling in his direction.

❧

Micky shot up from his place slumped against Davy as the door slammed open, cracking against the wall and chipping the white paint. He caught sight of a very menacing, furious Mike storming into the room.

Mike dropped his suitcases with a resounding crash in the quiet room, waking Davy beside him as he approached Peter's bedside. His boots made sharp clicks on the linoleum, causing dread to creep up Micky's throat and hold his voice hostage. They were Mike's cowhide boots – his ass-kickin' boots. He and Davy exchanged a short look of pure, unbridled fear and turned their heads back to the scene before them.

Mike was knelt on the ground, his hands tentatively fingering the tips of Peter's hair that was sprawled across the thin pillows. The faded hospital lights cast shadows upon Mike's face, making him seem twenty years older.

It was a curious sight for Micky to behold – nearly too intimate, especially with the undeniably soft expression Mike had taken on. He hoped that Mike had forgotten about his threat, but those hopes instantly evaporated as Mike's smoldering eyes landed upon him with the mercilessness of history's most fearsome rulers.

Micky was naught but a peasant waiting to be executed with the fierceness of Mike's gaze. He abandoned his place next to Peter after a quiet wisp of words neither of them could make out.

"Now, now, Mike, it isn't what you think," Micky said with a nervous smile. He was slowly backing up into the wall, trying to hide behind Davy.

"There's no reason to get uptight, man. 'e's just restin' like the doctor ordered," Davy said, outstretching his arms to prevent Mike from coming any closer. He looked practically murderous in this light.

"It was an accident!" Micky squeaked, standing atop a plastic chair. This gave him at least a foot's advantage over Mike height-wise. "I swear!"

Mike narrowed his eyes, close enough to deck Micky if he so desired. Davy was sandwiched between them, unable to prevent much other than direct contact. He made a series of aggravated noises that were muffled from behind the fabric of Mike's shirt.

"If we weren't in a public place, I would be puttin' these shoes to good use," Mike growled. "I trusted you with him, goddamn it!"

Just as Mike was going to continue, there was a groan from the bed. They all dropped the fight and rushed over to Peter, who was writhing around. He slowly peeled open his eyes, flinching at the sudden burst of light.

"Mi – chael?" He croaked, seeing Mike's head hovering over him first. "Micky? Davy?" Peter hoisted himself up, coughing raggedly into his elbow. He suddenly brightened. "Michael!"

Mike was puffed up with pride at seeing his boy so happy because of him. He allowed Peter to reach over and take ahold of his wrist, pressing their palms together for a brief moment. 

Peter gave them all a watery, albeit shy, smile. "Hi guys," he said. "Sorry about the hospital bill."

Mike, in all honesty, had forgotten entirely about how much this would all cost in the end. All he wanted was Peter alive and well, no matter if they had to live on the street or not. "That don't matter right now. Are ya okay? What happened to you?" 

Out of the corner of Mike's eye, he caught Micky beginning to make his quick exit to the door. "And you. One more step and these boots of mine will go so far up your ass –"

"Michael!"

He immediately straightened up, abandoning Micky for the time being in favor of Peter, who was now panting quietly from his outburst. His hair fell in a damp curtain over his face, obstructing any view of his eyes. Mike glanced behind him at the mildly concerned expressions of Micky and Davy and hesitantly reached out to push the offensive bangs away.

"Me an' Mick will go out and get you some coffee. Looks like you need it!" Davy piped up once the tense silence in the room became too much to bear. Micky hurriedly agreed, backing out of the room just in time to dodge an embroidered cowboy boot being hurtled in his direction.

The door shut, leaving Mike to grin sheepishly as he collected his shoe.

"It was my fault, not Micky's. They were trying to cheer me up." Peter's lower lip started to wobble and Mike made it to his side in two strides to soothe the sobs that were coming. "Micky said I'd be happier out in the sun on the beach. I wasn't, really. Everything just reminded me of you."

Mike's heart squeezed in sympathy, he'd spent every night awake thinking of Peter. He was happy that he wasn't alone in his sentiment, but Mike was kicking himself for being so stubborn in not taking Peter along with him. He just made them both suffer.

"I was playing in the water a little and – and I didn't notice a big wave come and just everything went black. I'm so sorry, Michael!"

Just like that, Peter was crying. Mike didn't hesitate this time as he cradled Peter to his chest. He wasn't sure what to say, so he kept quiet and ran his fingers through Peter's hair in that tender way he loved.

It was their first bit of privacy in so long, and Mike wasn't about to squander it. He wanted desperately to make up for the days that he'd been distant. If Mike had just manned up and told his Ma outright, maybe then Peter wouldn't have to be in this awful situation. Mike knew how much he hated being in hospitals. It just made him feel guilty all over again. 

❧

Mike refused to leave Peter's side during the three more days that he remained cooped up in the hospital. The guys brought him extra pairs of clothes to change into every now and then, but Mike spent most of his time holding Peter's hand and interrogating the nurses and doctors that dared cross him.

Even when the doctor managed to shove Mike out of the room for Peter's treatment, he remained just outside the door, worrying with an empty pack of smokes and looking the part of the guard dog he was trying to portray.

Once they were finally home, Micky and Davy gave them both some much needed space to hurriedly dispose of Homeless Harry and Tasmanian. Mike found himself clinging to Peter, almost afraid to let him go. He was extremely wary of any body of water and made sure to tag along if Peter wanted to take a bath.

That's what brought them both into the cramped little tub, Mike with his knees drawn up to his chin and Peter scrubbing away at himself serenely amongst the mountain of bubbles. He smiled fondly, loath to interrupt such a peaceful moment. Mike was happy to see his boy unafraid of water, not even flinching at the slightest if it got splattered on his face.

"Mike," Peter whined, his cheeks tinting. "Aren't you gonna wash up too?"

He plopped his head on his hand, flipping the dark wave of hair out of his eye and smirking. "Naw. I'm enjoyin' the view too much." Peter went crimson from the tips of his ears to his chest, boosting Mike's confidence enough to continue. "Missed seein' your pretty little face. C'mere, honey, I need to kiss you again."

Giggling, Peter scooted into Mike's arms. It was a tight squeeze due to the narrow tub, but they made it work. With Peter wedged between his long legs, Mike dropped a sweet kiss atop his lips. He wasn't satisfied with just one and went back for seconds, thirds, and even fourths, trying to make up for the time they were apart.

"Next time," Mike promised. "Next time, you're comin' to Texas with me. Show ya to my Ma and Johnny n' Debbie n' little Ricky. Can't take any chances with these two watchin' ya. Belong with me, anyway."

To seal it off, Mike dove in for a deeper kiss, claiming Peter's mouth with his tongue. They pulled away breathless.

Peter was beaming from ear to ear, causing Mike's heart to melt into his feet. "You really mean it? You'll take me?"

"I'd take you 'round the world, darlin'. If you're so dead-set on seein' DDT trucks n' cattle, I'll show ya the best DDT trucks n' cattle in the state." He would've been uncomfortable at being so vulnerable, but with Peter's eyes so big and joyful, Mike might as well have hung the moon in one night.

With Peter nuzzled into Mike's neck, placing kisses like seeds to be sown, he swore that he'd never leave his boy alone again.

FIN.


End file.
